Oboists like to say who was their most important oboe ancestor. In my case, I am fortunate that I have two great lines of lineage, one to a great European player, Heinz Holliger, and the other to the great North American founder, Marcel Tabuteau. This second side runs through having been nurtured in my early playing by the amazing talent of Richard Woodhams, both in the many lessons he gave me, and also the many Woodhams-as-principal concerts for which my father indulgently bought me a ticket. If nothing else, I am sure this trained my ear to the flexibility and sensuality possible on the instrument, and for which I strive.
From my Holliger side, I have the red-bloodedness of a rich, uncompromising approach to sound, and never backing away from whatever it takes to create music. The best of both worlds is in my head, although it is always a challenge for me to emulate that.
I am also very fortunate in so many non-oboe lineages to which I can lay claim. But I want to pay tribute to one dear friend, who died last week after many months of illness. She was a french horn player, but she always said her horn could change personalities between the brass and the woodwinds, depending on what it was playing. She was an insightful and supportive member of several groups in which we played together, including a wind quintet for which she was by far the most experienced musician but she brought the rest of us along with her. She wrote, and then conducted, several pieces for large ensembles that featured my playing on oboe and on cor, because, she said, she liked to luxuriate in my dark and soulful sound. And she talked often of the generosity of other musicians, because she looked for that kind of goodness in others. Diana, I will miss you.
As musicians, we sometimes talk about our musical family. We can be critical of each other, we can squabble. But I think it is good to take time every so often to remember how much we all gain from our many many relatives-in-music.
